


the crosshairs of the things we’ve done

by OAKtoONT



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Established Relationship, Ex-Military Steve Rogers, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes, So Married, ex-military Bucky Barnes, flirting while in a firefight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OAKtoONT/pseuds/OAKtoONT
Summary: Steve’s first art show was going great.Right up until he got kidnapped.





	the crosshairs of the things we’ve done

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song When the Truth Hunts You Down by Sam Tinnesz
> 
> [Chinese translation](http://crystalyoosimi.lofter.com/post/40dff1_12e1c634b) available by [yoosimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoosimi/pseuds/yoosimi).

Steve’s first art show was going great.  
Right up until he got kidnapped.

 

\---

 

Bucky patted himself down making sure he had everything as he headed for the front door. Wallet, phone, keys, knife, knife, knife, knife, knife--he glanced at the clock on the wall and swore. Shit. Steve was going to kill him.  


He rushed out and was halfway to his car when his phone started to buzz. Normally Bucky would have ignored his phone except the caller ID came up as ‘Deputy Director’ and no one, not even Nick Fury, dared to ignore Maria Hill.  


“Hill, this better be a world ending emergency cause I’m late--”  


“Steve’s been kidnapped.”  


Bucky stopped walking and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

\---

 

The hood was pulled off of Steve’s head and he was finally able to get his bearings.  


He was in an honest to God warehouse. They might have even been near the docks. His abductors were speaking in Russian. He was sitting in a chair with his hands and feet tied with fucking rope. It was like he had been forcibly dragged into every mob movie ever made.  


“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” muttered Steve.  


He counted seven in the room. Four playing poker at a fold up table. Two watching a soccer match on a TV. One looming over him. The loomer was wearing a black tracksuit with a mustard stain on his white t-shirt. Fucking sloppy.  


“Where is he?” asked Mustard Stain in heavily accented English.  


“Where is who?”  


Steve slurred his words a little more than was necessary as he willed his brain to focus. Judging by his clothes Mustard Stain was part of the group that had taken him at the gallery. He didn’t see the others--two more gunmen and the getaway driver. Maybe they were outside. Patrolling the perimeter if they were smart. Taking a smoke break if they weren’t.  


Mustard Stain grabbed him roughly by his hair. “The man in the painting. Where is he?”  


Steve wanted to roll his eyes towards the heavens. _Fucking’ A. The fucking painting. Fuck. Bucky was going to be pissed._ Instead Steve said in what he hoped was a quavering voice, “How the hell should I know?”  


A quick assessment of his overall well being confirmed what Steve already knew. They had been rough with him, but he had suffered no harm except for a few bumps and bruises. Mostly they were trying to intimidate him. It wasn’t working.  


“Where is he?”  


“I don’t know!”  


Mustard Stain punched him with enough force to send the chair rocking. “If you don’t tell us where he is we will kill you.”  


Steve spat tasting the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. He smiled and knew that his expression was more than a little unsettling. “мы увидим.”  


_We’ll see._

 

\---

 

“Talk to me, Hill.”  


Bucky shucked out of his suit jacket and strapped on his kevlar vest. He had already been wearing, well, several knives under his suit. The trunk of his car yielded two 1911’s and two sets of reloads. The reloads were strapped to his vest along with one of the guns.  


“I’m sending you the security footage now.”  


Bucky turned his phone sideways and hit play. He watched as three men all dressed in black tracksuits and ski masks entered the gallery. They were armed with Glocks and judging by the way they were handling them they only knew the basics of how to use them.  


There was no sound, but Bucky could tell they were yelling. One pointed at a painting on the wall repeatedly and then Steve walked into the frame with his hands held up. One of the gunmen grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him out of the gallery with his gun pointed at Steve’s head.  


“Do we know who they are?” Bucky’s voice had gone flat even to his own ears.  


“We’re pretty sure they’re connected to the Russian mob.”  


“Why?”  


“The painting they were pointing at. It’s of you.”  


Bucky sighed. “I’m sending you coordinates now. How soon can you get some backup here?”  


“You already know where Steve is?” The question wasn’t doubtful. It sounded more like professional curiosity.  


Bucky did a cursory check of his gun before holstering it. “We didn’t exchange jewelry at our wedding, Hill. We exchanged GPS trackers.”  


“Who says romance is dead?”  


“Literally everyone who works for SHIELD,” replied Bucky with a snort.  


The Deputy Director actually chuckled so the night wasn’t a complete wash. “Backup ETA is twenty minutes. Go get your boy, Barnes.”  


Bucky grinned. “Copy that.”

 

\---

 

The sound of gunshots grabbed everyone’s attention. Six shots in quick succession. There was a flurry of movement. The guys at the table dropped their cards. The soccer match was abandoned. Guns were produced and orders were given. They left Steve alone with Mustard Stain.  


There was a strange kind of quiet that settled over the warehouse. The gruff voices of the mobsters faded as they scurried away. Even the commentators of the soccer game sound muffled and distant now. It was the waiting. The anticipation. It shifted Steve attention. His focus no longer on what was happening and more on what was to come.  


Steve watched Mustard Stain watch the shadows. The mobster did so with an alert focus but without any fear. Which was...interesting. They knew who Bucky was. They didn’t know _what_ he was. Then again, if they had known that Steve wouldn’t have found himself in this situation to begin with.  


His husband was not someone you wanted to fuck with.  


Something clattered off to Steve’s five o’clock. Mustard Stain glanced at him one last time before he went to investigate. Steve almost told him, “Be careful what you wish for.” Except it wasn’t worth the breath.  


There was the sound of a scuffle followed by the distinctive snap of a neck breaking and then--  


“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”  


Steve raised his head as Bucky walked out of the shadows. He was still in his dress shoes and charcoal slacks which meant he had been wearing his charcoal suit which was sweet because it was Steve’s favorite, but it was also a shame for the same reason. Blood was never going to wash out of those pants.  


“How long have you been waiting to use that line?” asked Steve amused.  


“If I were to say years…?”  


“I’d say that I’m not surprised.”  


Bucky’s eyes roved over him. “You know, if you’re into bondage--”  


Steve sighed. “There’s a time and a place, Buck.”  


His husband chuckled as he got to work cutting the rope from Steve’s wrists and ankles. Steve stood and shook out his stiff limbs and then because he couldn’t help it he pulled Bucky into a hug. He was warm and solid and _here _.__  


Bucky buried his face into the curve of his neck. “Hey, babe.”  


“Hey, yourself.”  


“Sorry I was late to your show.”  


Steve shrugged. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”  


Bucky pulled away as he let out a shuddering breath and with it went the joking, flirty expression. It was replaced with an unflinching stare that made Steve shiver. Bucky examined him head to toe categorizing his injuries and Steve let him fuss until he was satisfied.  


Bucky kissed him, a quick peck on the lips before he pressed their foreheads together. “I’m going to kill them.”  


Steve smirked as he wrapped a hand around the back of his husband’s neck. “Not unless I get to them first, sweetheart.”  


Bucky smiled a smile so cold it burned.

 

\---

 

Bucky stood back and watched as Steve carefully folded up his navy suit jacket and rolled up his tie. He left both in a neat pile on the chair. Bucky knew that he hadn’t managed to hide his amusement when Steve turned and got a look at his face.  


“What?” asked Steve a little defensive. “This is my favorite suit and my favorite tie. I’m coming back for them.”  


“No business attire left behind,” quipped Bucky because honestly.  


Steve let out a short breath that he tried to make sound like an annoyed huff, but Bucky had known since about the third grade that he was just trying not to laugh. And maybe Bucky would have called him out on it like he usually did except Steve had started to roll his sleeves up and it was hard to be witty when all his tongue wanted to do was lick the hard planes of those forearms.  


“How many did you count?” asked Steve.  


It was Bucky’s turn to let out an aborted laugh. Bless his sweet, oblivious husband’s heart. “I took out three outside and the guy guarding you. Didn’t get a good look at the rest of them.”  


Steve nodded in acknowledgement. “I only counted ten so there should be six left.”  


Bucky handed over the pistol and reload from his vest. Steve pocketed the reload before checking over the pistol. His long fingers moving with a practiced ease. Once satisfied Steve looked up at him and nodded before they fell in together. Bucky took point. The comforting presence of Steve at his back.  


They had always been like that. Bucky and Steve. Steve and Bucky. From back alley scrapes as kids to the mountainous terrain of Afghanistan. It was one of the reasons their Delta Force team had been so effective. It was why Nick Fury was still trying to recruit Steve to SHIELD.  


The truth was it was one of the reasons why Steve had gotten out.  


Alone they were good. Great even. Together…  


Together they could burn the fucking world to the ground.  


And speaking of burning...  


Steve frowned. “Is--is something on fire?”  


“What the fuck?” muttered Bucky as yeah, that was smoke gathering. “Did they set the warehouse on fire? How did they manage to do that?”  


“Maybe someone microwaved aluminum foil,” Steve suggested managing to sound completely deadpan.  


Bucky scoffed. “I wouldn’t put it past them. Fucking amateurs.”  


“Maybe this was their plan?” Steve didn’t sound like he believed his own idea but was willing to give these asshats the benefit of the doubt. “Lock us in? Smoke us out or burn us alive?”  


“Naw, they need proof I’m dead.”  


Erratic gunshots came from their ten o’clock and Bucky hunkered down behind a crate of some kind. He glanced at Steve. His husband had crouched behind a stack of oil drums. Steve held his gun loosely in one hand, the other hand holding up his chin with his elbow balanced on his raised knee. Faint lines crinkled around his blue eyes as he smiled. He looked back at Bucky and said rather proudly, “Don’t they know you can’t kill a ghost?”  


“Damn straight.”  


Steve snickered. “Not really.”  


The corners of Bucky’s mouth tipped upward in a slow deliberate movement. “Captain Rogers, are you flirting with me in a burning warehouse in the middle of a firefight?”  


“It’s like Azzano all over again.” Steve fired off a few shots before ducking back behind cover. “And that’s Captain Rogers-Barnes to you, soldier.”  


“God, I love you,” laughed Bucky.  


Two mobsters rounded the corner trying to flank them. Bucky spotted them first. He took out the first--shot to the chest, shot to the head. And before he could throw a knife at the second, Steve had already dropped him.  


That left four.  


“Reloading,” Bucky called out as he ejected the magazine and slid the fresh one home.  


Steve’s posture was still loose, but his eyes were on high alert as scanned the area. “So, are we going to talk about it?”  


“Talk about what?” replied Bucky dryly.  


“I don’t know.” Steve’s shrug was the very picture of nonchalance. “What are your feelings about pineapple on pizza?”  


Bucky had had a lifetime to get used to what a little shit Steve Rogers could be so he didn’t laugh, but he came damn close. “Remember that undercover thing I had to do a while back with the Russian mob?”  


Steve gave him his best your-Captain-is-disappointed-in-you face. “Oh, that _thing_. That thing that you told me was over.”  


Bucky was...a little embarrassed by that. Not that he would ever admit it to Steve. He was a goddamn professional and loose ends were anything, but professional. “In my defense, I thought it was over. Nat thought it was over!”  


“Oh,” said Steve instantly mollified. “Well, if Nat thought it was over.”  


Bucky rolled his eyes. “Besides why the hell did you paint a giant painting of me anyway?”  


“Because you’re beautiful,” replied Steve as he casually shot a guy in the kneecap. “And it was supposed to be a big romantic gesture or some shit.”  


“God, you’re cheesy,” said Bucky his tone nothing but fond as he put the guy who had been kneecapped out of his misery. Seven down, three to go. “And don’t think we’re not going to talk about it.”  


“Talk about what?” asked Steve all bright eyed innocents as he pulled out the fresh magazine from his pocket. “Reloading.”  


Bucky shook his head as he kept a lookout for them. Two could play that game. “About how that canned, syrup shit doesn’t count as pineapples and doesn’t deserve to be on anything let alone pizza. I mean, if we were talking about fresh pineapples maybe grilled over an open flame--”  


“Oh my God. Shut the fuck up about pineapples and just yell at me already.”  


Bucky didn’t yell. He never yelled when he was angry. Instead, he went cold and quiet. Like right now for example. “You let yourself be taken.”  


At his tone of voice Steve’s eyes flicked towards him before he returned his attention to scanning the room. “There were civilians, Buck.”  


That was quintessential Steven Grant Rogers.  


And Bucky never could stay mad at that fucking punk.  


Bucky let out a long breath and smiled. “Steve, babe, hon, love of my life, _you are a civilian_.” It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes and Bucky found himself laughing. “Now what are you going to tell Fury next time he comes calling?”  


Steve cocked his head to the side listening. He held up his hand and gave the signal that he was going to circle around. Bucky nodded once before he popped out from behind cover to draw their attacker’s attention. The remaining mobsters seemed pretty eager to do just that if their inconsistent firing was anything to go by. Bucky crouched behind a storage container and waited.  


It didn’t take long for the first scream. It was a wailing, agonized sound and it was abruptly cut off. Bucky raised his pistol and went on the hunt.  


He found Steve standing over the bodies of the last of the mobsters. He was backlit by the glow of the fire and he was so goddamn beautiful it hurt Bucky’s heart.  


Steve looked up at him. “I’ll tell Fury what I always tell him. I’m retired.”  


At that point Bucky couldn’t even remember what they had been talking about. He was too focused on how sweat and blood had made Steve’s white dress shirt cling to his heaving chest. He crossed the distance between them and pulled his husband into a messy, open mouth kiss.  


“You’re really fucking hot, you know that?”  


Bucky could feel Steve’s smirk against his lips. “I could do this all day.”  


“Oh, trust me. I know.”  


Steve let out a pleased huff before he glanced around the warehouse again. “Quick sweep?”  


“Un huh,” replied Bucky. “You just want to get your jacket and tie.”  


Steve gave him his signature, ‘Oh, shucks’, shrug. “I mean, if we’ve got time before the cavalry gets here.”  


Bucky glanced at his watch. “Yeah, what the hell.”

 

\---

 

They sat together on the trunk of their car watching the warehouse burned. Their sweep had yielded nothing but Steve’s coat and tie. The flames of the fire were starting to catch on the outer walls. Steve doubted that the fire department was going to beat SHIELD here, but he wanted to be gone before it got to that point. It had been a long night.  


Steve rolled his head from one side to the other. “Is it weird that I kinda wish we had marshmallows to roast?”  


Bucky sniggered. “Maybe Clint will have some.”  


“Do you really think he’ll have marshmallows on him?” Steve asked curiously and a little hopeful.  


Bucky gave a lazy half shrug. “With Barton who the hell knows.”  


“He does bring his bow and arrows everywhere with him.”  


“One day they’re actually going to be useful and we’ll never live it down. Though,” Bucky conceded. “He is fucking deadly with them.”  


“We all need to have hobbies,” Steve replied dryly.  


Bucky looked back at him with a puzzled expression on his face. “Wait, what are my hobbies?”  


Steve held up his hand so he could count off with his fingers. “Ah, knives, throwing knives, languages, science, science in different languages, antiquing, science fiction in different languages--”  


“Okay, okay,” chuckled Bucky. “You’ve made your point.”  


Steve smiled. “You could probably add, ‘saving me from burning buildings’, to that list.”  


“Naw, we always save each other.” Bucky looked down as he started to fiddle with his own hands. It was a rare, nervous gesture. “It was nice, you know, you having my back again.”  


Steve knocked his shoulder against his husband’s. “Was that your recruitment pitch?”  


“No.” Bucky's head snapped up. His gray eyes determined as he shook his head. “Hell no. You got out and made a life outside of the service and I’m so fucking proud of you for that.”  


Steve ducked his head. “Yeah, well, who knew art shows were so dangerous?”  


He watched as Bucky laughed and Steve felt...content.  


“I wouldn’t change anything.” Bucky threaded their fingers together and kissed the back of his hand. “About our lives, I mean.”  


Steve knew that he had a dopey expression on his face, but he couldn’t help it. “I know what you mean, Buck.”  


They were Steve and Bucky. They were Bucky and Steve. They could burn the world down around them, but tonight...they’d settle for a warehouse.


End file.
